


Drifting In And Out

by wherenearheisenberg



Series: Not-So-Humble Beginnings [3]
Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Diary/Journal, F/M, Genderbending, Repressed Memories, always-a-girl!Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherenearheisenberg/pseuds/wherenearheisenberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You see things when you least expect and like them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifting In And Out

**Author's Note:**

> It's 1 am and I'm hungover(not with beer but with sad music). It just so happens that I'm a bit up for writing. 
> 
> Don't read this, it's sad. Or at least I think it's sad.

Type, type, type...

 

Mark pressed the wrong button and gets redirected to her documents.

 

Too many unfinished works. All in her documents folder. Mark didn't know the files already piled up that high.

 

She checked on each one and realized that they were her old memos during her college years. Years later, she didn't thought she would still have them.

 

Well, actually she did. But it slipped her mind. _They_ slipped her mind.

 

After all the shenanigans she went through, the depositions, the settlements, she forgot that she used to channel her emotions on writing. And to think she went through a _lot_ of shit these past years.

 

Sitting on her usual place at the coffee shop, she started browsing the notes long ago forgotten. They were all about her daily activities, much like a diary, but Mark refused to call it that. The term “diary” seemed like a pathetic excuse for something she found solace in.

 

Apart from Eduardo.

 

She found one with the title “Wardo”. Despite her efforts not to touch anything about him with a ten-foot pole, she couldn't help but reach for this one. She remembered her secretary leaving the DVD of “The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in her office once. She shed a few tears on that, and she wondered why she never cried during the depositions and all. The depositions were more dramatic than most scenes of the movie, but it hit Mark more. Oh, the irony. Maybe she wanted to cry after all, and she just needed some aesthetic recluse to trigger it.

 

She thought, that if she could keep one memory, it will be this one. Anything could be inside it, really. It might be a raunchy notetaking of their trips at bars, or some algorithm Wardo used to teach her that don't really matter anymore. It could be anything. She hasn't even opened it yet, just blankly staring at the file name while the brightness of the screen makes her squint her eyes a bit.

 

_Fuck,_ she thought.  _I shouldn't even be doing this._ What happened, anyway? She won some and lost a lot more. She remembered how the one million members of Facebook mocked her after Wardo walked away. 

 

It doesn't matter now. That's what she want to think, but she's nervous. She thinks it will not cost her more loss if she opened the file, but then she's anxious that maybe this is the door for the punches and kicks to hurt her again, forcing her to breathe troubled in front of people whom she didn't want to show weakness. 

 

Well whatever, she thought, and clicked open.

 

_August 17, 2003_

 

_I suppose we don't need that here, and you wouldn't see this for awhile because I obviously sneaked this here._

 

_You already know it. Well, I hope you do. You need a lot of reminding, don't you?_

 

_I'm in your room now and you probably went out to buy more beer._

 

_I'll make it one of my life goals to have drunk nights with you as much as I can._

 

_I love you. I'm not a sappy asshole to add “so much it hurts” because you make me feel alive and well._

 

_-Wardo_

 

She's trembling while she ate her waffles. A single tear escapes from one eye, followed by another on the other side. She hastily wipes then with the sleeve of her sweater and continues to find more letters from him in her laptop.  There were none. 

 

She looks at the glass window and back at her laptop screen and makes herself believe that this is better,  _that_ is nothing. At least not anymore.

 

And she continues typing codes, line after line, until she can't feel anything else but the keyboard. 

 

Until she forgot how sincere his voice has always been.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't. Even.


End file.
